Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“Honestly, you lot are like a plague of locust.” Putting the boxed bouquet on the countertop, Poll plucks the remainder of the beef between my fingers and sets it to the side. “Elvis can have that when he gets here.”
“The dog gets beef, but I don’t?”
“Yes, because he doesn’t help himself,” she says, exasperated. She turns to Mimi. “I’ve already had to hit Brin with the wooden spoon for stealing one of the Yorkshires.” She rolls her eyes as though she doesn’t secretly love that we all fall into old roles when we walk through the front door.
“Brin deserves it,” I say, eyeing the beef again. Polly slides the chopping board farther away as if that would even stop me.
Suddenly, her hand darts out and captures my chin. “What’s this?” she asks, turning my head sideways so my profile catches the light.
“An accident.” My lip is a little swollen, though nothing too bad. I think Mimi kissing it better a dozen times probably helped.
“What’s a Yorkshire?” Mimi’s gaze bounces between us.
“Yorkshire pud. Pudding,” I amend.
“Like dessert?”
Fuck, she looks like a dessert. Like a crème brulée. Sweet-scented and sugary, but deliciously decadent underneath. She makes me want to roll my tongue over every inch of her. Her pussy is the bowl of cake batter I want to lick clean.
“Yorkshire puddings are savory.” I realize Polly is trying to explain while my mind had checked into gutter town. “Though you can have them with treacle and cream, and they’re quite nice like that.” Mimi nods like she knows what Mum is talking about. “But not as good as when you have them with a roast. They’re a staple of a roast beef dinner,” Poll adds, “unless my mother made them. No one likes a soggy bottom.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” Mimi blinks, almost straight-faced.
“The problem is…” Mum swipes up a teatowel and begins to vigorously rub a plate from the drainer. “You can’t rightly tell until their bottoms are exposed.”
“Sounds plausible.” Mimi nods, though I notice how her lips twitch.
“What you’re aiming for is something rigid.” Mum makes a fist around the towel, her expression deadly serious. “It’s got to be hard before you put it in your mouth. Otherwise, it’s just not as satisfying.” I slide her a look, wondering if she’s been on the cooking sherry when her blue gaze catches mine. “Isn’t that right, Leif?”
“Your satisfaction at mouthing hard things isn’t any of my business, Mum.”
I’ve barely finished the taunting sentence when she’s whacking me with the teatowel. “Filthy animal!”
“If I have a dirty mind, it’s hereditary.” That earns me another whack. When I turn to Mimi, laughter dances in her eyes. “How do you think my parents had seven children?”
“The usual way!” Polly butts in.
“With an awful lot of practice in between.”
“Oh boy. You are in trouble.” Mimi presses her hand to her mouth, but it doesn’t hide the amusement from her eyes.
“I don’t know where I got you from!” Poll protests, throwing her hands up.
“Well, it wasn’t the cabbage patch, that’s for sure.” I don’t normally bring up the topic of her and Dad’s sex life in company. When just us kids are about, it’s fair game because we were the ones who had to live through those years of free and often loving. Free with each other, at least. As teenagers, we’d pretty much announce our imminent appearance in a room just to make sure we weren’t walking in on something. I saw my dad’s arse more times than I will ever admit. But it’s good we can tease her about it these days because for a while, there was no joy to be found in reminiscing. These days, Poll’s grief isn’t so sharp-edged. It’s become a little easier for all of us, I suppose. Not that you’d think she’s happy about it right now.
“Your father would turn in his grave to hear you,” she fake-wails.
“Difficult,” I retort, “considering he was cremated. Besides, you know he’d be encouraging me right now. Squeezing your bum and insisting he can’t help himself on account of you being so irresistible.” Mum’s expression softens, and she presses her hand to her cheek, almost as though she can feel the phantom of his lips.
“I miss him,” she whispers.
“We all do.” Stepping into her, I press a brief kiss to the crown of her head. “Oof!” I feign a cracked rib as she pokes me in them.
“And if you’ve got a dirty mind, it’s all your father’s fault, the randy old sod. Has he?” My stomach tightens when, as quick as a flash, Mum’s attention slides like a knife to Mimi.
“Has he what?” Mimi blinks back innocently, and surprisingly, there isn’t even a hint of pink to her cheeks.
“Oh, she’s good,” Polly says, her attention turning my way.
“A good PA? Yeah, Mimi’s great.”
Mum makes a noise in the back of her throat, cutting off further comment. “Definitely your father’s son,” she says in a tone none too complimentary.